


We'll be the broken lovers with the poison cup

by merrythoughts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Cannibalism, Deal With It, Disturbing Themes, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Harm, Will is a Vampire, but not detailed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts
Summary: “Hannibal, don’t,” he says, voice full of conviction, but you think you hear a slight waver... This pleases you.“Why not, Will?” Your eyes glint and the blade rests against your skin. You may not be a practicing surgeon, but your hand does not shake.





	We'll be the broken lovers with the poison cup

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the vampire AU that no one asked for where Will is the vampire and Hannibal tries to corrupt him. Tada motherfuckers. Don't know if I'll write more.
> 
> ALSO WRITTEN IN SECOND-PERSON BC IT'S MY NOT SO SECRET KINK, SORRY NOT SORRY.

You stand there with a scalpel blade poised over your wrist and a wine glass resting below on the desk. He watches you with unnaturally bright eyes. Even in this low light his eyes are blazing like a blue gas flame. He could react quick enough - could intercept and stop you before you pressed down - but you know he won’t. Will is constantly riddled with indecision and it’s this advantage that you will press.

“Hannibal, don’t,” he says, voice full of conviction, but you think you hear a slight waver... This pleases you.

“Why not, Will?” Your eyes glint and the blade rests against your skin. You may not be a practicing surgeon, but your hand does not shake.

“...You know why.” He shifts from one foot to the next, looking smaller than he truly is from his oversized shabby clothing. He _wants_ to look away, he _wants_ to leave. He detests conflict after all. There was a time he would have simply chosen to take his leave, vanished in a blur and your evening would be spent alone sipping wine and reading or composing.

But now… now Will has grown used to companionship - more specifically, _your_ companionship. After so many years alone, he aches for conversation, for words and human presence to distract from the gnawing loneliness that consumes his own existence.

(Unfortunately for him, you live to incite distress in others; Will Graham has made a poor choice in a friend.)

He’s a vampire - a creature from the storybooks - gifted with immortality and immeasurable  power but who shudders at the idea of hurting or killing another human. Will, who hides in his abysmal shack of a house with his pack of dogs, could create a kingdom of corpses, but feeds off of animals like he _is_ merely one of them. (You know the truth - he is a god.)

You, who are fragile and all _too_ human, have no qualms about taking a life. You snatch organs and feast on human flesh. You cannibalize your own kind and create art from their bodies when you see fit.

(Who’s the _real_ monster here?)

The entire situation is wholly absurd to you. How could you resist playing with him?

So, you do what you do best and you incite: the blade bites into your skin. A bubble of blood blooms on your wrist. Will is transfixed, eyes widening at the appearance of his impending downfall. You can smell it, so surely he can as well. He walks toward you, eyebrows drawn in, a pinched expression on his face. In this moment, he’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Stop it.”

It’s an order, but it’s one you won’t obey. You increase the force ever so slightly, but enough for a more of a superficial wound to form.

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply, lips twitching up at the corners. You pull the scalpel away and you rotate your wrist so the blood will slide down, coalesce, and then fall into the waiting wine glass. You two are going to have your very own communion. (If Will _ate,_ you would likely offer some of your body as well - for posterity’s sake.)

He’s a few feet away, tense and when the first drop _finally_ falls he’s suddenly appears in your personal space. His speed used to unnerve you, but not anymore. Your face remains calm as Will’s hand reaches out slowly for the wine glass,

He’s pale and deadly and you wish in this moment to be able to fashion him into a great weapon. So clearly in your mind you can envision the two of you each seated upon thrones constructed from bones with crushed skulls underfoot.

His hand doesn’t make it to the stem of the glass. Instead, his index finger and thumb pinch your palm and the location makes you think of Jesus’ crucifixion wounds. He’s not gentle. You consider flinching to see what his reaction would be. You could have got away with it in the beginning, but likely Will can see through you now. (You’re not _really_ in pain.)

“Why do you push me like this?” Will asks.

“Because your agony is exquisite to me,” you reply and you’re somewhat surprised to find that it’s the truth. (After the months of conversations it’s likely time to be a bit more courteous in this regard.) 

“You’re wretched,” he hisses, but he brings your wrist to his mouth anyway. 

You watch him lick the line of blood clean and then tongue at the small incision. It’s perverse and a delight. He sucks greedily and it fills you with heat and gratification to see Will give in.

“You are perfect like this,” you whisper.

(He doesn’t bite you, but he will someday.)

When you kiss, your tongue slides into his mouth and tastes copper.

**Author's Note:**

> If you did want more, are you interested in the back history or where they go from here, or a mix with flashbacks (•ิ_•ิ)?


End file.
